


Small Change

by ficbear



Series: Gunsel [13]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Comeplay, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Facials, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Gangbang, Group Sex, Hair-pulling, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looks like the type that'd push you right to breaking point, just to see you snap. He looks like once you were broken into a dozen little pieces, you'd find yourself under his heel, being ground up into dust. I think about that long and hard, and when my attention finally drifts back to their conversation, I'm just in time to catch the best bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Change

These parties confused the hell out of me when I first started tagging along. I mean, you've got all these big players in a house together, plus their best boys and a few pencil-pushers, and that means this is basically one long late-night board meeting with a better-stocked bar, right? Except no business ever gets done. They don't even _talk_ about it. One time some new guy tried bringing up a deal he was angling for, you should have seen the frosty reception _that_ got. He couldn't have shot himself in the foot better if he'd walked right up to the host and socked him in the jaw.

No, all the connections that get made here happen under about a dozen layers of hints and small talk. Some guy drinks with the boss, stands next to him at the card table, maybe goes halves on some pretty little chiseller with him, all as casual as you like. Then the next week I'll be out doing the collections, and who opens the door? That same guy, only now he's wearing a nicer suit and smiling like he just won the lottery. All because he was at the right party. All because he made the right friendly noises at the right person.

The way I figure it, boys like me are the glue that sticks this lot together. Oh sure, there's tough guys and accountants here, but there's a few dozen of my sort as well, and you can bet every connection that gets made tonight is going to have one of us at the middle of it. Which is kind of a nice position to be in, only the upshot is that if I get my hands on any of these guys, it'll be if and when the boss tells me to. I don't touch anyone tonight who isn't on his list, and that means I get to do a whole lot of looking and a whole lot of wishing while I wait for the old man to give the order.

That's what I'm keeping myself entertained with, as I follow the boss and Joe through the lounge. I'm a couple of steps behind them, trailing along after them like a dog, and every time I spot a pretty face or a sharp suit, I let my mind wander onto all the things I'd do if I was here as a free agent. That boy standing by the bar, for instance, the one with the bleached-blond hair and the sharp little smirk on his face. From this distance I can't hear what he's saying, but I'll bet it'd be smart enough to earn him a smack in the face, and I'll bet he'd ask for more.

Or that guy sitting on the big sofa at the side of the room, the one with the grey hair and the cold eyes and the expensive suit, the one sitting there watching the crowd with a slight little smile on his face that's almost a sneer, like he's at the pictures and he's not impressed with the show. I wouldn't mind trying to liven the party up for him. I wouldn't mind that at all.

Or maybe that wiry little punk perched on the edge of the chaise longue next to his boss, fidgeting with his tie and the collar of his shirt every few minutes. He looks about as uncomfortable with all this as I used to be, and I'll bet he's the type who likes to work his nerves out the physical way. I could go for a bit of that tonight. A bit of sparring, a bit of a struggle, not knowing who's going to come out on top. Yeah, I could go for that. I really could go for that. I could—

"Hey," Joe says, over his shoulder. "You want to daydream, do it on your own time."

Him and the boss are a dozen feet away now. I guess I got carried away. So I put a bit of speed on, and I've just caught up to them when the boss starts heading toward that big sofa. As soon as he sees us, the guy with the grey hair smiles, gets up, and puts out his hand.

"Jack, how are you?"

Like a shot, Joe steps between them and gives the other guy a flamethrower glare. "That's _Mr Turner_ to you, pal–"

"Joe," the boss says, with a faint little smile, "get some fresh air."

Joe stands there for a moment, staring at the other guy like he's right on the verge of throttling him, and if I didn't know better I'd think Joe was going to pretend that order never happened. Then at last he turns around, gives the boss a look that's almost an apology, and walks off toward the balcony.

"Your friend really doesn't like me very much, does he?"

"Oh, don't take it personally, Mr Vaughan," the boss laughs, and the two of them sit down on the sofa, nice and friendly. "Joe doesn't like anyone very much."

 _Now_ I know who this guy is. He's that retired judge I keep hearing Joe going on about, the one who wants to chip in on that new place the boss is sizing up. He wants to get in on the ground floor, and he's got more than enough cash to buy his spot, only Joe doesn't like the idea, and he's been going off like a rocket every time the guy's name comes up. Me, I don't really get what Joe's problem is. I mean, sure, I've been in front of a couple of judges in my time, and it wasn't a barrel of laughs, but I'm not going to hold a grudge. And besides, if the boss is happy enough to deal with this guy, who's going to argue with him? Not me, not by a long shot.

So while Vaughan and the boss make with the small talk, I just sit on the footstool next to the sofa, half listening and half thinking about whether I could go and find that punk on the chaise longue after this is all over, see if he was up for something out-of-hours. Then Vaughan gets a cigarette out of a fancy silver case, passes one to the boss, and just looks at me and _waits_. Now if I was here under my own steam, I'd be on it like clockwork, but as it is I'm not sure. I lean over to light the boss's, but I don't dare go any further than that. I just look up at the boss, and wait for him to give me the nod. He looks down at me, smiling a little, and Vaughan chuckles quietly. Then the boss nods, and says "Go on," and when I finally light the judge's cigarette I can almost feel the rest of my night shifting into gear.

They carry on talking about nothing, drinking and smoking like a couple of old buzzards at a club, and I carry on half listening and half daydreaming, but now I'm not thinking about my other options. Now all I can think about is whether Vaughan's going to be half as mean as he looks, when he gets down to business. He looks like the type that'd push you right to breaking point, just to see you snap. He looks like once you were broken into a dozen little pieces, you'd find yourself under his heel, being ground up into dust. I think about that long and hard, and when my attention finally drifts back to their conversation, I'm just in time to catch the best bit.

"Speaking of entertainment," Vaughan says, gesturing at me with his cigarette. "I'd like to borrow your young friend for the evening, what do you say?"

The boss doesn't answer right away. He just takes a sip of his drink and looks out through the window onto the balcony. My eyes follow his, across to where Joe's still standing, still smoking, and still looking like he'd love to come back in and throw this guy out on his ear. Then the boss turns back to Vaughan and smiles.

"That's fine," he says, "with a few conditions, of course."

"Of course," Vaughan says, nodding.

The boss glances at me, and jabs his thumb toward the bar. "Get some more drinks."

I do as I'm told, and by the time I get to the bar, I'm focussing so hard on trying to carry all three of our glasses without dropping them that when Joe grabs hold of my elbow I almost jump out of my skin.

"He's lending you out to that judge, isn't he?" Joe says, quiet and low, and he ploughs right on before I have a chance to answer. "Fine, that's his choice. But if this Vaughan does anything you don't like, anything at all, you just shout, alright?"

"Worried about me, are you?" I say, filling up the glasses the best I can with that hand on my arm. "I'm _touched_ , Joe, really touched, you've got me welling up and everything."

"Yeah, you'll be bawling your eyes out if you don't shut that mouth," he says, but his heart's not in it. He's not even looking at me, he's looking over his shoulder to where Vaughan and the boss are sitting, and I can feel his grip on me tightening up as he watches them talk.

"Alright, Joe, sure," I say, pulling away before he breaks my arm. "If he gives me any trouble, you'll be the first to know, okay?"

He just nods and leans against the bar, and I can feel his eyes on me all the way back to the sofa. The boss and Vaughan are still chatting when I get there, so I set the drinks down quietly on the coffee table and settle back down on the footstool, trying not to disturb them. That's another bit of manners I've had to be taught the hard way. At this kind of party, I don't butt in on a conversation just to wind the boss up, not unless I fancy spending the rest of the night in the car. I have to be quiet, I have to be—how did the boss put it?— _discreet_. And I must be doing a good job of that right now, because as I sit down, neither the boss or the judge so much as looks at me. It's like I'm not even there.

"Nothing permanent," the boss says, "and nothing he doesn't agree to."

"Of course," Vaughan says.

The boss smiles. "Beyond that, he's all yours."

 

* * *

 

The only warning I get is a groan and a hard yank on my hair, and then the guy fucking my mouth pulls out and lets me have it, right across the face. I keep my mouth open and stretch my tongue out, trying to catch as much of his come as I can, and when he's done, he wipes the rest of it off his hand and onto the few patches of my skin he managed to miss, like he's cleaning himself off with one of those little towels they have in fancy bathrooms. I'm covered in come, dripping in it already, and he's only the second guy so far who's decided my face made a better target than my tonsils. But I can't get enough tonight. One faceful just makes me want another, and another, and another, and all in all it's a damn good job this judge's got a lot of friends.

I'm raring to go again when the next guy gets into position in front of me, only this one's more interested in talking than fucking. As soon as he's in place, he grabs hold of my hair and yanks my head back hard. "Look at him," he says, turning my face this way and that like he's inspecting every inch of it, every drop of come glistening on my skin. "He really does love it, doesn't he?"

I laugh, but it comes out soft and throaty and more like a groan, and then before I have a chance to reply, he pushes my head down and slides his cock into my mouth, shutting me up before I've even started.

"Of course he loves it," the judge says, with a crisp little chuckle. I can't see his face, but I can picture the smile on it. "What were you expecting, a reluctant virgin?"

That makes the whole lot of them laugh, especially the one fucking my ass. "Well, if he was, he's at the wrong party," the guy says, slamming into me deep and hard as he talks. "Do you actually _have_ any virgins in your stable, Vaughan?"

"Only very briefly," the judge says, perfectly deadpan, and that sets them all off into another round of the filthiest laughter you ever heard.

These guys, they like to talk as much as they like to fuck, and they've barely let me get a word in edgewise since I walked in here with Vaughan. There were only a couple of his friends here at first, but even so they gave me the raised eyebrows treatment when he showed me in, saying something about me not being enough entertainment for the lot of them, and hadn't Vaughan better go and rustle up a few more boys? So of course I started mouthing off right back at the guy, telling him that he'd better go and find a few more friends of his own, because him and his buddy just looked like an appetiser to me. Vaughan just laughed and shoved me toward the two of them, threw me at them like he was tossing a scrap of food to a couple of dogs, and since then it's been non-stop. There must have been a dozen guys in and out of here so far, but after the first four or five they all started to blur into each other. All except for Vaughan.

He's been sitting there the whole time, on the big chair by the bed, watching like a vulture waiting for a carcass. I keep looking over to him every time I get a chance, when the other guys are swapping places or moving me around, and every time I catch sight of him he's looking right at me, like he's inspecting me, appraising me, like he's up on his bench and I'm down in the dock. Makes me wonder how many punks like me he's helped put away. Makes me wonder how many he's helped get off scot free, in exchange for a bit of entertainment. Makes me wonder a lot of things, but I don't get a chance to daydream for long.

The guy behind me tenses up and groans, and I guess this lot work like dominoes, because as soon as he starts to come, the one fucking my mouth goes right over the edge after his buddy, as quick as if they were tied at the wrist. He clamps a hand around the back of my neck and pushes in all the way, ramming his cock deep enough in my throat that I hardly taste his come, and he stays there until I've swallowed the lot, long enough that I'm gasping for breath by the time he finally lets me go. Then he pulls out and gives me a light little slap on the cheek, which I guess must be his way of saying 'good job', and then him and his friend move off to the side of the room with the others who're already done for the night. There's enough of them to fill two of those big sofas with some left over, and I reckon I must've been through half of Vaughan's buddies by now, but I'm nowhere near finished. I feel like I could take on every guy in the house and still be hungry for more.

"Come on, then," I say, kneeling upright and wiping my mouth. "Who's next?"

The guy that steps forward is a bit younger than the others, in his thirties maybe, which makes him older than me but practically fresh-faced compared to the rest of these old goats. The way he looks at me, eyes wide and hungry like he can't believe what he's watching, I reckon he's new to this kind of scene, and I'm just starting to wonder how quickly I could finish him off when another guy steps forward and puts a hand on the younger one's shoulder.

"You take his ass," the older guy says, pushing his friend forward a bit. "I want a turn in that mouth."

I grin up at the older one. "Come and get it, then."

He doesn't need telling twice. He grabs a handful of my hair, yanks my head down level with his crotch, and grinds my face against the bulge of his cock, dragging my lips up and down along the length of it until the cloth between us is damp with spit, and when his friend kneels down behind me and lines his cock up against my ass, the little moan it forces out of me just gets lost against the fabric. It's a good job I've already taken so many cocks tonight, because the younger guy pushes into me in one thrust, quick and sharp and careless enough that I'd have been howling if I hadn't already been fucked wide open.

The older one isn't in any kind of hurry. He yanks my head back, holds me in place by the hair while he unfastens his trousers, and even when he's taken his cock out, he only rubs it against my cheeks and lips, smearing the streaks of come that are still on me all over the place, getting himself coated in it. When he finally slides his cock into my mouth, I can taste the last two guys on his skin, and that just gets me hotter for it, hungrier and more desperate every time he thrusts forward. He laughs quietly when I moan against his cock, and I know exactly what that laugh means. It means _you're a filthy little whore for loving this so much_ , and it gets me about as overheated as if he'd said the words out loud.

He's not the only one enjoying the fact I'm enjoying myself. The younger guy's hand slips down underneath me, and he grabs hold of my cock tight enough to make me buck forward and groan against his friend's skin. "Look how hard he is…" he says, like it's a miracle. "The little slut loves it." Then that hand starts working my cock, firm and quick, and that might be nowhere near an expert touch, but's it's enough to get me squirming against him.

"Careful," the older one says. "Don't bring him off before Vaughan's given the word."

Which is a good piece of advice, but it turns out it's not me he needs to worry about. The younger guy fucks me like he's on a deadline, and it takes him maybe three or four minutes of thrusts that land like punches before he's digging his nails into my hips and muttering curses under his breath, slamming in deep and hard as he comes. Now, I get the impression his friend could have gone all night, but they must work as a double-act, because as soon as the younger one's finished, the older one laughs and pulls out so he can finish the job by hand. He holds me in place by the hair until he's done, until he's painted my face with a fresh coating of come, until I'm grinning up at him, wet and sticky and still eager for more.

"Shall I call in a few more guests?" the older guy says, looking over to where the judge is sitting.

"No, I think this is sufficient," Vaughan says, and before he's even given the order, the guys waiting on the sofa are on their feet and coming toward me. "Put him on his back, if you would, gentlemen."

The judge gestures toward the bed, and his friends hop to it right away. A couple of the bigger guys grab hold of my arms and pull me over to the bed, holding onto me tight enough that it's tempting to struggle, just to see how much of a fight they'd give me, but it's not that kind of party, and I'm not going to mess this up, so I just let them push me back onto the bed and spread me out. Then Vaughan stands up out of his chair and advances on me, and all those good intentions go right out the window.

"About time," I say, watching him take off his jacket and start to unbutton his fly. "I was starting to think watching was all you had the energy for."

"I don't like to rush these things," he says, with a little smile. "And I prefer my boys to be thoroughly warmed-up before I begin."

One of Vaughan's buddies passes him the lube, and I can't take my eyes off him as he slicks the stuff along the length of his cock. I can't hide how much I want it, how much I need to be fucked again. "Well, come on, then," I say, stroking a hand over my own cock as I watch him. "I'm so warmed-up now, I'm practically on fire."

He doesn't let me hurry him, not one bit. He just kneels between my legs, reaches down between us and slides his fingers into my ass, pushing them in deep and hard, right up to the knuckle. The sound it makes is so wet and loud it's obscene, and as his fingers slide in and out of me, he watches me like a hawk. I wish I could see what he's seeing. I must be dripping with come by now, Vaughan must be able to see everything, to feel how soaked I am in the stuff, inside and out.

"Yes, splendid…" the judge says, under his breath, like he's congratulating himself for a job well done. Then he slides his cock into me, giving me the whole lot in one long, slow stroke, and my body doesn't put up one bit of resistance. His buddies have left me so warmed-up he could have gone in as fast as he pleased, and I'd have barely felt a twinge. But he doesn't go fast, he just fucks me slow and deep and hard, and when he looks down at me he's got this smile on his face like he thinks I should be whimpering and pleading.

"Careful, old man…" I say, trying to keep the groan out of my voice. "Don't put your back out…"

He doesn't say a word. He just leans his weight on one hand, and brings the other hand down across my face, vicious and quick, hard enough to make me yelp. Now that smile's disappeared from his lips. Now he looks like he wants to wring my neck.

"Bit sensitive about your age, are you?" I grin up at him, giving myself a nice leisurely stroke while I bait him. "Don't know why, you don't look a day over—"

He slaps me again, harder this time, and now I can't help moaning. All the guys who've fucked me tonight, all the things they've done to me, all the thing they've said, all of it got me hot and bothered, but a good hard smack in the face beats all of that put together, no contest.

"What're you holding back for?" I laugh, stroking myself a bit faster. "I'm not made of glass."

This time the old guy's hand moves down to my neck, and now those fingers are wrapped around my throat like talons, now he's fucking me rougher and faster, like he thinks maybe a good hard fucking is going to teach me the lesson his hand didn't quite manage. And maybe that lesson isn't going to stick, but the way he's pounding into me, the way his hand gets tighter and tighter every time his cock slams into my ass, I'm about as close to chastised as I'm going to get, and from the look on his face I reckon the judge knows it. Those hard grey eyes are locked on mine, and I feel like he can see every thought passing through my head, every flicker of pleasure, every rush of desire. I bet he can see every bit of it, but he's still going to make me say it out loud.

"Come on…" I groan, upping the pace of my hand. "Come on, give it to me."

For a minute I think Vaughan's going to leave me hanging, but I guess he's in a lenient mood after all, because his palm comes down across my cheek again, harder and heavier than ever, and that's too much, I'm done for. He holds still inside me as I start to come, and I can feel his eyes on me, even when my own eyes are screwed shut. I know he's watching every stroke of my hand, every pulse of come that spatters across my stomach, every twitch of my muscles. He's still looking down at me when I open my eyes, and now that smile's back, the one that makes me feel like I'm in the dock and he's just thinking about how bad he can make things for me.

"You two," the judge says, over his shoulder, to the last couple of guys hanging around by the bed. "Come here and make sure the boy has something to occupy those idle hands."

And you know, half an hour ago I would've had a line ready for him, I would've told him that it'll take more than a couple of his juniors to occupy me, but now all I can manage is a flimsy little groan of anticipation. Maybe his thing isn't group scenes or putting on shows after all, maybe it's working boys til they're ready to drop. In any case, the old guy's obviously enjoying himself, watching my hands working over his friends' cocks about as intently as he was watching my face a few minutes ago. And yeah, I might be done, but I'm enjoying it too. Who wouldn't enjoy having eyes that cold all over them?

"That mouth needs filling too, if you ask me," the guy on my right says, pushing his fingers between my lips, and maybe I'd rather be talking back right now, but having something warm and hard against my tongue comes a close second. I suck hard on his fingers, letting him fuck my mouth with them just as roughly as he's fucking the hand I've got wrapped around his cock, and I guess he must appreciate the enthusiasm, because that's all it takes. His fingertips push against the back of my throat as he goes over the edge, and I have to focus on the feeling of his come splashing across my chest to keep from choking, but it's worth it. It's worth it when he pulls back and takes his hand away from my mouth, when I glance at Vaughan and see the look on the old goat's face, the approval in his eyes, like he's in an art gallery taking in his favourite picture. It's well worth it, and it spurs me right on.

"Come on, then," I say to the guy on the left, "what are you waiting for?"

The guy smirks and wraps his hand around mine, forcing my grip firmer around the shaft of his cock, and now it's like I'm not even doing the job myself, now it's like my fist's just a tight hole for him to fuck. He doesn't waste any time, either, he just fucks my hand in sharp little thrusts, squeezing my fingers around him like a vice, and before I know it he's groaning rough and low in his throat, tightening his grip and aiming just right to cover my face with his come. I'm dripping with it now, all over my forehead and cheeks and lips, and I have to half-close my eyes, but even so I can see how much Vaughan's enjoying the view. I can see those grey eyes fixed on me, I can hear the tension in his voice as he gives a restrained little groan, I can feel his fingers tightening around my throat as he picks up his pace, as he fucks me in long, deep, stabbing thrusts that make me wince and yelp, and when the old guy comes, I can see him looking down at me like I'm nothing, like I'm just a worthless toy, like this was a fight and he's the winner. Maybe he is, in a way, but if he thinks he's got the better of me he's got another think coming, and I can't help looking at him with the kind of smirk that'd earn me a belt around the face from the boss. But this judge isn't the boss, and all I get from him is a mocking little laugh and a smile that's almost a sneer, and then he's done.

 

* * *

 

The sound of the door opening wakes me up, but I keep my eyes closed. Lying down here's so nice, so comfortable, I don't want get up, not for anything. Then I feel the bed underneath me shifting, weighed down on one side, and all of a sudden I get smacked on the cheek, just hard enough to make me think twice about that last part. When I open my eyes, the boss is sitting on the edge of the bed like a visitor in a hospital, only there's no concern in his face, nothing at all except cold amusement ~~.~~

"Vaughan said you were dead to the world when he left you," the boss says, "so I thought I'd see for myself."

"You've just come to check up on me, have you? Sure," I laugh, stretching out on the bed, pushing the sheet off so I can feel the air on my skin. "But if you wanted a piece of me tonight, why didn't you tag along with Vaughan in the first place?"

"I wanted to see if he can be trusted with my possessions." The boss smiles, only it's the kind of smile that makes me wonder what the penalty would've been for failing that test. No, I _know_ what the penalty is. It's about six foot two inches' worth of pent-up aggression that's been kept stewing all night, just waiting to be served up.

"Oh, I get it, lend him a fiver to see if he runs off with it, before you trust him with anything bigger." And I do get it, I really do, and the thought's getting me more worked up than anything Vaughan and his friends did, but I still can't help talking back. "What does that make me, then?" I say, pushing myself up onto my elbows, giving him the best scowl I can manage when I'm this turned on. "Small change?"

"That's right," he says, and he grabs hold of my throat tight enough that I can feel my pulse hammering in my neck. "And you love it, don't you?"

I push back against him by way of an answer, but it's useless. I'd have no chance on a good day, and right now I've got hardly any fight left in me at all. He could have pushed me back down onto the bed with his little finger.

"You're mine, boy," he says, pinning me down by the throat. "Mine to keep, mine to give away."

His other hand runs down across my chest, across my stomach, past my hip and down to my thigh, and when he hooks it under my knee and pushes my legs apart I can't help groaning. He can see everything, he can see how hard I am already, how well-fucked Vaughan and the others left my ass, how I'm still so wet with lube, still so open and ready for it. He can see it all, and that's got me trembling.

"Look at you…" he says, grabbing a handful of my ass and squeezing it hard. "Look how eager you are, you little slut."

"Yeah, I'm eager, alright…" I groan, slipping a hand down to stroke my cock. "So why don't you hurry up and fuck me, old man?"

The back of his hand comes down across my cheek, fast and hard, and with his other hand still on my throat like this I can't even flinch away from him.

"You think I'm going to give it to you up here? A cheap little punk like you?" he laughs, and backhands me again. "No, you're going to take it on the floor, where you belong."

He drags me off the bed by the arm and throws me down onto the carpet at his feet, rough and quick, so I hit the floor hard. My head's spinning, and all my muscles feel weak, like it'll take me forever to push myself upright. By the time I've gotten onto my hands and knees, the boss is kneeling behind me, lubed up already, rubbing the head of his cock along the cleft of my ass.

"Please…" I murmur, trying to push back onto him. "Please, let me have it…"

"You can't get enough, can you?" he says, yanking hard on my hair, and the way he says it, it feels like a compliment and an insult at the same time. Every word just makes me more desperate, and he knows it. He knows just how to push my buttons. "Can't even go an hour without needing to be fucked again, can you, you little whore?"

Then he shoves my head down, pushes me down so my face is against the carpet and my ass is in the air, and when he drives his cock into me in one sharp, fast thrust, the moan that comes out of my mouth is so pitiful I should be ashamed of it, but I'm not, I'm just hungry, just desperate, and I don't care what I've got to do to get what I need. He's not even moving yet, but I can feel his cock throbbing and swelling inside me, and every little twitch makes me feel like I'm losing my mind.

"Can't…" I say, trying to focus enough to get the words out. "Can't get enough, I need it, please…"

"Oh, you'll get it, boy," he laughs. Then he starts to move, fucking me hard and deep right from the start, and every bit of flesh he touches inside me seems to quiver and tense and throb with the pleasure of it. I keep begging for it, pleading with him, promising I'll do anything if only he'll keep fucking me, if only he'll keep slamming his cock into me like that, if only he'll keep using my ass like I'm nothing but a piece of meat, and in return he fucks me so brutally it takes all my strength just to keep my legs from giving way.

"Listen to yourself," the boss says, giving my ass another one of those rough squeezes that makes me squirm. "You desperate little slut, you'd beg all night, wouldn't you?"

I want to say yes, or no, or _anything_ , but all that comes out is a long, pathetic moan. The way he drives his cock into me, the way he hits just the right angle every time, the way his hips slam against my ass like a hammer, so hard it makes my whole body shake, it's pushing me so close so fast, I feel like I'm falling, flailing, helpless and out of control. I feel like—almost like—

"Close—" I groan, trying to hold back, but it's like trying to stop a tidal wave. "I can't— I'm going to—"

The boss just laughs and shoves my head down harder, grinding my face into the carpet. He doesn't let up, not for a second, he just keeps fucking me hard and fast as I start to come, and it feels like he's wringing the climax out of me, battering it out of me with every thrust of that hard cock deep inside me, relentlessly, mercilessly, as vicious as any beating he's ever given me. When he finally grabs hold of my cock, I cry out like he's killing me, and that just makes him laugh again, low and nasty and rough.

"Filthy punk," he says, grabbing my hair with his dry hand and yanking me upright. "You're a cheap little slut, but you're _my_ cheap little slut, understand?"

I try to nod and say "Yes, sir," but before I can get the words out, he brings his other hand up to my mouth and holds his fingers to my lips, smearing my come all over them. He doesn't even have to give the order, I open my mouth like clockwork, and then those sticky, rough fingers are sliding between my lips, pushing against my tongue, and I'm sucking them clean as eagerly as if it was his cock in my mouth, licking every bit of skin I can reach. All the while, he keeps on fucking me, grinding into my ass in short little thrusts as he holds me in place, and I still can't get enough, not even now. Feeling him inside me, in my mouth, in my ass, everywhere at once, it's too much. I'd do anything, I'd say anything, and even though I should be spent I can feel my cock getting hard again, like my body doesn't care how ruined I am afterwards, if only he'll keep fucking me until I come again.

"What are you?" the boss says, sliding his fingers out of my mouth again.

"A cheap little slut," I say, knowing full well that's not quite right, not quite what he's after, just hoping he'll give me a bit of correction for my trouble.

"What was that?" he says, yanking my hair roughly, thrusting into me sharp enough to make me wince. "I didn't hear you."

" _Your_ cheap little slut, _yours,_ " I moan, tipping my head back against his shoulder, squirming and grinding back against his hips, desperate to get more of his cock inside me. "I'm yours, your slut, your whore, _yours_ , please, don't stop—"

"You're mine, alright," the boss says, close to my ear. "And don't you forget it, boy."

He shoves me back down again, twists my arms up behind my back and ramps his pace right up, slamming into me hard and deep again. He knows exactly how to use me, exactly how to get what he wants, and it takes him maybe a dozen strokes before he's wrenching my arms up higher, squeezing my wrists til they feel like they're going to break, calling me every name under the sun as he comes. I feel like his grip covers me, like he's all around me, like somehow those hands on my wrists and that cock buried in my ass, they add up to a hold that covers every inch of me, inside and out. He's got me, every bit of me, caught tight in his grip. I'm his, just like he said. His to keep, his to give away, his in every way I can think of. I couldn't be any more his if I had his monogram branded into me.

I'm still thinking about that even after he's let go, after he's pulled out and stood up and started straightening his suit. I'm thinking about it as I kneel there, breathing hard and rubbing at the red marks he left on my wrists. My heart's still pounding, and my hands are shaking, and I must be too tired to think straight, because I feel like there's something I want to say, something I can't put my finger on. Then the boss reaches down and puts his hand on my head, just for a moment, and he runs his fingers over my hair like he's petting a dog, and now I _know_ I must be out of it, because as I look up at him, it isn't a smart line or a smirk on my lips. It's a smile.


End file.
